Chapter 6 #2
Jal’s heart stumbled over a beat or two before his face, and those wide whisky-gold eyes registered. Of course, it was him… the cocky son of a bitch that had stolen her wallet, and broken into her place. What was his name again? Oh, right. Ciaran. And who am I?
They stood staring at each other for a long moment until the breeze picked up and blew her hair across her eyes. Jal batted it away with an annoyed growl that could have been for him as much as the wind, or with herself even.
Before she’d realized who he was, she had been impressed with his skill with the soccer ball and with his obvious love for the sport.
Before she could truly identify his features, the bright, white smile and the gleam in his eyes as he danced around his friends as if they were standing still had entranced her.
Until she had seen his face, she had been attracted to him. Hell, she was still attracted to him.
Ciaran blinked quickly as if the wind breaking their eye contact had also broken some kind of trance. “Jal?” he asked and took a cautious step toward her. Oh right, that’s me. I’m Jal.
It was reflex that had her taking a step back, and another, until her back collided with the tree. “What are you doing here?”
He was close but he hadn’t touched her. Yet. She didn’t know what would happen if he did. “I would think that was somewhat obvious, lass.”
That voice poured over her like the honeyed whisky his eyes reminded her of, but she put up a hand before he could get any closer. Suddenly, it wasn’t the rough bark of a tree at her back, but a cold, smooth plaster wall.
He collided with her hand like it was a magnet that had drawn him in. Beneath the sweaty shirt, his heart beat a furious rhythm against her fingers.
That alone should have been enough to keep herself from spiraling; Andy had always been cool and collected.
But it didn’t help at all. Her vision narrowed until the park disappeared and even Ciaran was fuzzy.
A roaring filled her ears, distorting his words.
The pancakes threatened to make a reappearance.
When her head cleared a moment later, she was facing a different direction, and he had a hand under her elbow to steady her. A tingling warmth seemed to radiate from that touch, and some small part of her did feel anchored by it.
Two lines were etched deeply between lowered eyebrows, and he was close enough to see sparks of pure gold in his eyes. “Jal, are you alright?”
“Fine,” she snapped, and snatched her arm away. The warmth from his touch both lingered and faded away far too quickly.
Ciaran took a step back and put his hands in his pockets. His shoulders crept up towards his ears. “Look, Jal,” he said, “I don’t know what I’ve done t—“
She cut him off. “You stole from me, that’s enough.”
“You stole from me first, you know.“ Ciaran replied evenly. The lines had smoothed out on his forehead and one corner of his mouth twitched as he was trying not to smile. “We’re even.”
“Not even close, you broke into my home.” she said, that same rush of anger and humiliation came back at the mere mention of it. “Now, leave me alone.”
He followed as she tried to storm off between the trees, but stayed a few steps back. “You can’t stay mad forever.”
“Watch me.” She pivoted in a different direction and he cut her off.
This time he didn’t touch her, and he didn’t hold his arms out to the side like he was the defender, and she was the one driving forward with the ball.
He just stood casually with his hands in his pockets, his body filling the gap between two trees, though the tight muscles of his forearms told her he wasn’t truly at ease.
How could he when she was acting the way she was?
“Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “For everything.”
She stared at him. Gone was the cocky guy who strode into her apartment like he owned the place. Instead, his eyes were filled with warm compassion, which was almost worse.
As the silence drew out for a moment, he rocked back on his heels, then his head tilted slightly to one side. “Is there some way I can make it up to you?”
The earnestness suddenly filling the tawny depths of his eyes made her look away. “I—“
Whatever she was going to say was cut off by the scuff of footsteps on the path behind her heading their way.
Ciaran looked up over her shoulder and then stalked past to where the ball lay. He passed close enough that she could smell him, salty sweat and a smoky, sweet scent that she remembered from her apartment. It filled her nose and somehow cleared her head.
“Hey, Scotty, you could have at least thrown the ball back first.” One of his friends, the burly one with gray at his temples, said as he stepped onto the grass a few feet away.
Ciaran scooped up the ball with both hands and tucked it behind his head, his muscles flexed into a position she was sure he’d held a thousand times from the sidelines of a soccer game.
“I mean this in the best way possible,” he said, the last word ended on a grunt as he sent the ball flying through the air back onto the chalk-outlined field, “but piss off, Cliff.”
Jal used the distraction to slip away. She was halfway back to the park entrance before Ciaran caught up with her, stepping directly into her path, but kept his hands to himself. There was a fine tremor to his shoulders and arms that said it was taking all his restraint not to reach for her.
A small part of her wanted to feel his touch on her skin again, to soak in that warmth that seemed to radiate from him. A fresh breeze set off a whole-body shiver that wasn’t entirely from the cold. “Please, just tell me what you want, so I can go home.”
The thin smile that appeared on his lips was hesitant, almost sheepish. “Can we just start over?” His tone was not quite a plea. “Let me take you to dinner, for real this time.”
“You should get back to your game.”
The smile grew. “Answer me, and I will.”
Jal sighed and clamped her lips together to keep from mirroring his expression. “Why do I get the impression that I will only get rid of you if I say yes?”
He put his hands in his pockets again and rocked back on his heels. There was a flash of white teeth as the smile grew a bit more. “That’s a distinct possibility,” he replied, and that accent wrapped around the words like a caress down her spine.
She rubbed her forehead and huffed a laugh through her nose. He just crooked an eyebrow and rocked again, bouncing slightly when his feet landed flat.
For a long moment, she bit the inside of her cheek and tried to keep the smile at bay. But it was a losing battle. Finally, she shook her head and waved a hand at him in surrender. “Fine,” she replied, “if it will make you go away, then yes. I’ll have dinner with you.”
Now he was grinning. “That’s great, let me just get your number.
” Just as quickly, his face fell. He withdrew his hands from his pockets and then patted them as if his phone could magically have appeared.
He felt for back pockets that didn’t exist in soccer shorts and one hand briefly slapped at the white lion and shield emblem on his chest where the pocket in a coat or dress shirt would be.
He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Bollocks, it’s back at the pitch.”
Her laugh was triumphant with just a subtle hint of sultry smoke. “Oh? Now, that’s too bad,” she replied, and with a wink, she walked away.
Ciaran watched her disappear up the path with her head high and a swagger that would have been at home on the runways of Fashion Week.
The breeze sent tendrils of that raven-black hair swirling around her head and made the tails of her black coat billow out around her, revealing a backside that her jeans hugged in all the right ways.
She didn’t look back, but he got the impression that she knew he was still watching and checking out her ass. Which he certainly was not doing. Nope, not at all.
A voice from behind him said, “Well, she sure is pleased with herself.”
Ciaran turned as Cliff walked up beside him with a broad grin on his flushed face, the ball tucked under his arm and patted Ciaran on the shoulder. “What did you say to her?”
One of his hands curled slowly into a fist, but he resisted the urge to drive it into Cliff’s stomach. “Get stuffed, Cliff.” Ciaran growled and snatched the ball away. He turned back to where their friends were waiting, taking the opportunity for a water break.
Cliff laughed, falling into step beside him. “She’s a looker, I’ll give you that.” he said wryly, looking in the direction that Jal had gone.
Ciaran refused to agree with him out loud because his friend would never let him live it down. But still his eyes drifted back to where she had been but was now far out of sight.
With a sigh, he stepped back over the chalked line and dropped the ball, catching it with the top of his foot so it bounced back up. He continued to juggle it across the field between his feet and knees.
Mike squirted a stream of water into his mouth and brushed sweaty red hair out of his eyes. “Are you gonna play all day, or can we get back to the game?”
Ciaran bounced the ball off one knee, then the other, and let it drop to the grass.
He placed his foot on the top of the ball to stop it and regarded his friend with a raised eyebrow.
A corner of his mouth twitched up as Mike took a step in his direction.
Before he could take another, Ciaran slipped his toe underneath it and sent the ball flying straight into Mike’s groin.
Mike’s face turned the same shade of red as his hair as he dropped to his knees with his hands clasping the offended area. The others groaned in unison.
Ciaran passed the ball to Kurt with a grin and they went back to their game, leaving Mike where he was on his knees.